


Beat the Devil Around the Stump

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: 3x08 Stagecoach Mary, Episode Tag, I Can't Believe I'm Able to Write Canon-Adjacent Garcyatt Again, Multi, PRAISE THE LORD, Praise Hilary, Shameless Smut, Timeless (TV) Original Season 03, Timeless Season 3 Project, Trash ot3, Wyatt Logan's Bisexuality Crisis, more accurately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: 'Beat the Devil Around the Stump' – Old West phrase meaning to evade responsibility.Or, in other words:Something Flynn’s been doing and Lucy’s rather sick of doing, and Wyatt… well, if you ask Wyatt, he’d claim there wasn’t a stump in the first place.





	Beat the Devil Around the Stump

There are a few things that Wyatt Logan likes to think he knows for certain.

Interestingly enough, those are the same things that time travel likes to absolutely destroy any certainty about whatsoever.

For example, death. Death is final. Death cannot be undone. Wyatt learned that the hard way with Jess.

But now there was time travel, and Jess came back. Then Rufus came back.

Another thing Wyatt likes to think he knows for certain?

He’s straight.

Like a 2x4, an iron rod, a razor, he is _straight_.

And then he gets stuck in a tiny cabin for weeks with one Garcia Flynn.

Of all the things Wyatt had thought would kill him in Montana, 1900, he didn’t expect it to be all the times he’s seen Flynn shirtless because walking into people changing is kind of inevitable around here. The men tend to take care of their hygiene and change together, as do the women, and Rufus has done an admirable job of pretending that Flynn and Wyatt aren’t physically there during those times. But Wyatt can’t… he can’t stop looking at Flynn.

It’s. It’s very. It’s annoying.

Flynn’s tall and he’s got battle scars, including the one on his shoulder, and he’s got these broad shoulders and stupidly muscled arms that Wyatt’s pretty sure he couldn’t actually fit his hand around if he tried, and large hands with long dexterous fingers, and a fucking six pack because why the fuck not, and his hair is all soft and floppy since they can’t exactly get to a barber, and shaving is tough so Flynn has this really distracting scruff going on and… and…

_It’s annoying._

And, all right. So maybe Flynn’s personality isn’t so terrible either. He’s, surprisingly, the one with the best temper, always patient. He’s good with Lucy, making her laugh when no one else can, and Wyatt gets an odd twinge in his chest when he watches them interacting. Flynn challenges him to a wood chopping competition when Wyatt’s feeling cabin feverish and pissed and it’s only later when he’s exhausted and the tension’s all worked out and he’s smiling that he realizes what Flynn was doing. Flynn manages to keep the secret of Jiya sneaking into Rufus’s bunk to sleep with him despite the lack of room for days before Denise wakes up and finds out.

And perhaps—just _perhaps_ —there’ve been a few moments where Wyatt’s felt a little… but it’s just that there’s not exactly a place to take one in hand unless you fancy going out into the woods and bracing against a tree. He gets hot and bothered from Lucy, too, although he does his best to ignore it. He’s not going to—he’s been enough of an asshole with her. So it’s no wonder that his libido’s getting wires crossed like that one time when Flynn puts his hands on Wyatt’s shoulders from behind and skirts past him, a low “excuse me” murmured practically in Wyatt’s ear.

Or that one time when Wyatt got a splinter and Flynn sucked it out and massaged Wyatt’s hand.

Or the other time when his boot was stuck on his foot because yay ice and so Flynn had Wyatt sit on the bed and got between his knees and braced one hand on Wyatt’s thigh and then _yanked_.

Or that time when he’d been shivering on the floor and Flynn had practically dragged him into the bunk with him and said, “shut up, Logan,” when Wyatt had tried to protest before he’d forcibly cuddled Wyatt back into being able to feel his fingers.

But it isn’t anything, it was just close proximity and no options and no sex.

That’s it. Really.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself. Until he gets shot and falls off his horse and Flynn’s the one catching him, holding him, Flynn’s the one bandaging him up and digging the bullet out and patching him up and yelling at them to get Wyatt onto the Lifeboat, he’ll stay behind with Jiya.

Wyatt can barely stand at that point. The world’s going fuzzy and pixelated. But fuck if he’s leaving Flynn behind with Temple. The asshole tried to lie and turn them all against Flynn and Wyatt won’t have that, not when Jess told him the truth, not when he knows—

His legs give out and Denise and Lucy—Lucy, Lucy, he loves her so much, please let her be okay, he’s so glad Flynn is there to take care of her if he dies—they carry him onto the Lifeboat and he can’t do anything about it, he can only watch as Flynn is left behind.

He can’t—that’s not—he’s _straight_.

Isn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Flynn stumbles out of the Lifeboat into the new safe house feeling like he could sleep for a year and it wouldn’t be enough.

He helps Rufus to carry Jiya to their new room. She’s passed out, exhausted, and Rufus is understandably fretting. “I’ll get Mason,” Flynn tells him. Mason has a better chance at understanding what’s going on here than Flynn does.

Rufus grabs his shirt sleeve. “Hey.”

Flynn pauses, looks back.

“Thanks,” Rufus says. “For staying with her. That was—thank you.”

Flynn nods.

Once he’s out in the hallway he knows he should sleep, but—Lucy and Wyatt.

He has to make sure they’re okay.

Wyatt’s been… subdued, somewhat, as of late. He’s started to look to Flynn for guidance on things, and Flynn’s caught him watching to see what Flynn will say before Wyatt speaks on a subject. The guy’s still hotheaded and impulsive, but more than once he’s said or done something and then looked guilty about it and tried to backtrack, especially with Lucy.

Lucy, she’s—he loves her, he loves her so much it feels like a knife in his ribs, but he’s noticed her pulling away from him, from everyone. She gravitates towards him but she doesn’t talk the way she used to. There’s an anger, a brittle darkness in her, that’s starting to form and it scares him. It scares him for her sake. Wyatt’s noticed it too, Flynn can tell, and the other man seems to be at just as much of a loss.

But while Lucy’s losing her softness, scaring him with it, Wyatt… Wyatt seems to need him. And it’s nice, to feel needed. Lord knows none of them have been doing a good job of making him feel a part of the team lately but ever since Pasadena Wyatt’s seemed to be leaning on Flynn in a testing sort of way, as if he’s checking to make sure that Flynn won’t let him drop.

Flynn finds he likes it. He’s finding Wyatt’s softness even as he’s losing Lucy’s.

And now—now Wyatt’s possibly dying, and Flynn can’t seem to get rid of the weight of Wyatt in his arms when he fell off the horse, or the sound of Wyatt’s voice speaking up for him and telling them that Temple was lying, that Jess was the one who led Rittenhouse to the bunker.

Just as he can’t get the warm press of Lucy’s lips out of his head. The warmth in her eyes.

He walks down to what seems to be designated as the medical area.

Wyatt’s lying in the bed, and Lucy’s sitting by his side, his hand in hers. In a twist of fate Lucy’s the one asleep, her head pillowed on her arm as she slumps over.

Wyatt turns his head as Flynn enters. He’s still pale, too pale, but he no longer looks that terrifying pale green color that had Flynn’s stomach churning.

“You should take her to bed,” Wyatt croaks. “She needs… a good sleep.”

“Speak for yourself,” Flynn points out. He walks over, pushing Wyatt’s hair out of his face. “You look like shit, Wyatt, do you need water or anything?”

Wyatt shakes his head. Flynn turns his hand over, presses the back of it to Wyatt’s forehead. The fever’s gone down, thank God.

Look, if he’s being honest with himself… He’d noticed Wyatt’s pretty boy looks long ago. Sometimes, early on in their acquaintance, he’d wanted to fuck Wyatt just as much as he’d wanted to punch him. Then Wyatt had broken Lucy’s heart and Flynn had gone straight into hating him, and now—

Now it’s so much worse than just wanting to fuck him.

When Wyatt had gotten shot, when he’d been getting sicker and sicker, his face terrifyingly pale, it had felt like Flynn’s heart was constantly in his throat. He’d realized, then, what he’d fallen into. The way that he felt. And so now it seems that he’s a sucker not just for one, but for two people. Condemned to constantly worry about both of them, scared that they’ll be snatched away from him like his last family was.

But Flynn’s well aware that Wyatt is a) straight b) even if he wasn’t, he’s in love with Lucy and c) even if he wasn’t straight and wasn’t in love with Lucy he sure as hell wouldn’t be stupid enough to choose, of all the men out there, Garcia Flynn.

So instead he just pulls his hand away. “I’ll be back,” he tells him.

He carefully picks Lucy up, nestling her head against his shoulder, cradling her in his arms. He expects her to stir, startled, but instead she nuzzles into him, inhaling deeply, contentedly, one arm clumsily pawing up until it flops over his shoulder.

Flynn swears he can feel his heart breaking all over again.

“I’m kinda hopped up on painkillers,” Wyatt says, “but you two are very pretty together.”

“Thank you, Wyatt,” Flynn says dryly.

Wyatt gives him a dopey, adorable grin, and Flynn ignores the ridiculous flip in his stomach as he carries Lucy to her room.

She’s reluctant to let him go as he tries to pull away. “Shh,” he soothes, pulling the blankets up over her. “You get your own bed, lucky you.”

Lucy shakes her head clumsily, half-awake. “Mmm no, Garcia…” Her fingers catch at his shirt. “I wan’…”

“Sleep, it’s okay.”

“Wyatt?”

“I’m going to go sit up with him.”

“Bring ‘im here,” Lucy mumbles.

“You’re really that eager to share a bed again.”

“If it’s with you two,” Lucy breathes.

Her hand falls away from his shirt as she sinks back into sleep, her body heavy. Flynn’s heart just about gives out. _If it’s with you two._

She can’t mean it the way that he thinks she means it—can she?

After all, she has… she did kiss him. And she’s been struggling with feelings for Wyatt this whole time.

Is it really…?

But that would mean that she meant the kiss, had intention behind it other than a flash-in-the-pan impulse, and he can’t—would she really—

He gets back to the medical room and sits next to Wyatt, who looks glassy-eyed and exhausted. “You should be asleep.”

“You said you’d be back.”

“Well, here I am.”

Wyatt stares at him for a long moment as Flynn settles in his chair. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to hold my hand?”

Flynn’s ninety percent sure this is the painkillers talking, but he reaches out and holds Wyatt’s hand.

Wyatt gives him an absolutely blissed-out smile, like this is the best thing in the world, and then immediately passes out.

Flynn has no fucking clue what to do with any of this.

 

* * *

 

Lucy’s getting real tired of the shit these boys are pulling.

Wyatt’s recovering in the same room day in and day out and yet he’s managing to avoid her just fine. Flynn’s just a straight-up ghost.

It strikes her as… well, hurtful, honestly. Was her kiss really that offensive to him? She’d thought that he—that maybe—but now—

But he’d carried her to bed. She knows that. He’d held her so gently…

And Wyatt, she knows that Wyatt likes her still. Whatever his complicated feelings are regarding Jess.

Not to mention—well. She’s not blind. She’s seen how Wyatt looks at Flynn, the way he flushes whenever Flynn touches him, how he avoids eye contact with Flynn. And Flynn—Flynn looks right back. Looks after Wyatt, too, takes care of him the way he also takes care of her, bringing Wyatt coffee in the morning and wrapping a shawl around her shoulders at night as she plans at the table.

And, if Flynn takes care of Wyatt and finds excuses to touch him and looks at him with that dark, warm gaze… and he does the same with her…

But then why on earth are the two of them avoiding her!?

By the time Wyatt’s recovered enough to move around, she’s had about enough.

She corners Flynn first, going into his bedroom and closing the door behind her. “Garcia.”

He startles at the use of his first name. “Lucy?”

“I—when I kissed you, was it—was I out of line?”

He blinks at her. “Was it… I assumed it was a spur of the moment sort of… thing. You and Wyatt are clearly—you’re still close, I wouldn’t—presume.”

That pisses her off like nothing else. After all this time together can he not see? Can he not tell?

She marches over to him and grabs him by the shirt—it means she has to get up on her toes but screw it. She’s not going to wear heels constantly just because she was cursed with being a foot shorter than Flynn. She twists the handfuls of shirt and yanks him down to her, sealing her lips to his.

This time she doesn’t break the kiss immediately. She presses in, lingers, swipes her tongue across the seam of his lips. Flynn is absolutely rock still for a moment, and at first seems determined to stay that way, but she keeps at it and then Flynn melts, melts wonderfully, his hands sliding up her back to steady her and hold her against him.

She kisses him, she kisses him, she kisses him, little by little by little, and with each one he comes more alive, responds with more fervor, until his hand is in her hair and his tongue is in her mouth and she’s practically trying to climb him.

“But—” Flynn at last yanks his mouth away, his eyes dark and wild, his hair mussed, his mouth slick and red. “You and Wyatt.”

She’s so tired of not having what she wants. _You always think about the rest of us before yourself, Lucy,_ Denise had said. _It’s what makes you who you are. But you’re running yourself ragged._

Well, maybe it’s time for her to think about herself first, for a change.

“Who says I can’t want you and Wyatt?” she challenges, tightening her grip on Flynn just in case he tries to pull away. “Time travel exists, Jiya can see into the future, I think being in love with two people at once isn’t out of the realm of possibility, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m not sure that Wyatt…”

“I’ll deal with Wyatt in a moment,” Lucy interrupts him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“I’ve seen how you look at him, Garcia.”

“Doesn’t matter how I look at him if he’s not looking back.”

“And what if he was? If you could have both of us—would you want that?”

Flynn swallows. He gently twines a lock of her hair around his finger, staring at her in abject adoration. She wonders how stupid she was, that it took her so long to see it, that it took him literally offering up his life for Amy’s for her to understand. “Even if I didn’t want it, I would give it to you. I could never—whatever you need, whatever you want, it’s—it’s yours.”

“But… but you do…?”

Flynn flushes slightly. “He’s grown on me. He’s—I can see why you—when he’s letting himself relax, when he’s not—yes. I do.”

“You have a good effect on him. Perhaps a better effect on him than I do.”

“Hey, no.” Flynn catches her face in his hands. “You have a good effect on all of us, Lucy.”

She swallows. “Then you think that we could… talk to him?”

Flynn nods. He smiles softly at her. “We can try.” His face grows serious. “But no matter how it goes… you will always have me.”

She kisses him again, and she doesn’t stop kissing him for a very, very long time.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt examines himself in the mirror.

Another year, another scar to add to the list.

The door to the bathroom opens. Wyatt sighs. “Occupied.” He’s just finished shaving, he’s not naked or whatever, but still.

“We know,” is the response.

He jumps, turns, and sees Flynn standing there.

Wyatt swallows. He’s been avoiding Flynn, and Lucy, since they got back. Now that they’re in the 21st century and he has his own room, there’s no excuse for him to be so close to either of them all the time. No reason for Flynn to touch him, no reason for Lucy to sit next to him.

He figures—gotta go cold turkey, right? Get used to the lack of them, now. Lucy’s still recovering from how he broke her heart and stomped on it and he doesn’t want to push, and, well, Flynn’s never liked him to begin with.

Except now Flynn’s standing here, wearing a soft dark gray sweater, and this—this look in his eyes that makes Wyatt terrified, because if he was a little more reckless, he might gain hope from it.

And then out from behind Flynn steps Lucy, closing the door behind her and flipping the lock. “Wyatt.”

“Lucy. Flynn. What—what’s up?” He forces a casual tone into his voice.

“Wyatt…” Flynn steps forward, licking his lips, then glances at the ground. He waves his hand in the air in a kind of aborted gesture, like he’s trying to literally point out where his thoughts are going. “Am I… if I were to… ah…”

He looks at Lucy, who tilts her head towards Wyatt as if to say _go on_.

Flynn sighs, then walks over, reaching up and putting his hand on Wyatt’s arm—over Wyatt’s bullet scar. “You scared the shit out of us,” Flynn murmurs. His thumb rubs back and forth over the knotted skin. Wyatt feels heat spread through him, his stomach twisting, melting. “But the one good thing about—about something like this is it put things into perspective.”

Wyatt’s skin feels tight and hot and he swallows a few times to try and get moisture back into his mouth.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Flynn whispers, and then he’s slowly inclining his head and pressing his lips to Wyatt’s.

Wyatt’s straight. He’s straight, he’s straight, he’s—

Flynn tilts his head and kisses him a little deeper and oh, oh _fuck_ , Wyatt’s not straight at all.

Or at least, not straight where Flynn’s concerned.

The moment he starts to kiss back, to show some eagerness, Flynn hauls Wyatt to him and gets one hand around the back of Wyatt’s head, the other at the small of Wyatt’s back.

No wonder Lucy kissed the guy in 1900. Flynn’s… yeah. He knows what he’s doing. Lorena probably never had any complaints.

He pulls away, gasping for breath, and then remembers—Lucy.

Wyatt looks over at her, only to find that she’s moved closer, watching the two of them with flushed cheeks and bright, hungry eyes.

“Are you…” He clears his throat. “Are you okay with… I don’t want to… I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

She walks over to him, taking his hand, cupping his cheek in her palm. “Do you choose us? Not us until Jess comes back, not us today and Jess tomorrow and then back to us again. Do you choose us and stick with us?”

Wyatt swallows hard. Whatever he and Jess were to each other, no matter how much he still might care about her or how much he loved her once, now—he wants her with them and he wants her safe and he especially wants to get to raise his child with her. But as far as his heart and his bed are concerned, as far as who he wants to wake up next to and smile at over coffee and kiss at night…

“I choose you,” he says. “I—look I’m not, I don’t, I’ve never been with, ah, y’know. A guy. And I know I hurt you, and I know I was a jackass, and so I’m—I’m probably gonna mess this up but I. I choose you two. I’m not going to stop trying to get Jess back to us. She’s carrying my kid and I’m gonna be there for that kid, I’m going to keep—I won’t let Rittenhouse raise them. And I know she’s a good person, I know we can get her back. But with—I love you, Lucy, and I meant it when I said it, and I choose you. I choose both of you. And I’m sticking to it.”

Lucy smiles at him, drawing him into her and kissing him softly.

Wyatt sinks into her. Lucy kisses him like—like his soul is sinking into a cloud, like he’s been in darkness and she’s shining a light. And the whole time Flynn’s hand is at the small of his back, anchoring him.

He needs Lucy’s light. And he needs Flynn to anchor him.

Lucy pulls away, squeezing his hand, and then takes Flynn’s hand as well. Wyatt’s confusion must show on his face, because she laughs softly. “Unless you want to do this in the shower, I think we should move to a bed.”

He looks over at Flynn, who looks rather like he’s been clocked on the back of the head. “You—you sure?” he asks.

Flynn looks at him and nods, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smile.

Lucy’s grip on their hands tightens. “Nothing is certain,” she whispers. “I lost—I lost Amy and I never even said goodbye properly. I never told her I loved her. That was all I wanted, was to call her and say that I loved her. I’m not doing that again. I’m not waiting. If—if we wake up tomorrow and Rittenhouse has changed it all again—I want to have had this. I don’t want to waste this.”

Well, Wyatt can understand that. And after so many months of Lucy putting aside what she’s wanted for everyone else, especially for him—he figures this is the least he can do for her.

And hey, it’s not like he’s not getting anything out of this.

Turns out, of their three bedrooms, Wyatt’s bed is the biggest. Possibly because Denise, in a fit of optimism, thought Jess could be turned and got him a larger bed in preparation.

Doesn’t matter too much at the moment, because he’s being pressed into the bed by Flynn and getting the life kissed out of him and he’s not moving again ever.

Flynn kisses like he’s trying to set Wyatt on fire and god dammit it’s working. Wyatt gets his hands all over Flynn, everywhere he can reach, and it’s familiar because, well, Flynn’s a man and Wyatt’s a man and so there’s similarities, but it’s also incredibly unfamiliar because he’s not at all used to having all of that—that decidedly firm, decidedly _male_ body pressed up against him.

Flynn shifts, and Wyatt feels his jeans being undone and shoved down. He whines into Flynn’s mouth and then—oh fuck oh God it’s Lucy, it has to be, sucking him down, her mouth hot and insistent on his cock.

They didn’t do this when they’d fucked, he’d fingered her and then she’d fucked him on top, pinning him down and riding him like she was in a rodeo, and he’d had no qualms about that whatsoever. But holy mother of God, he’s not going to complain about this either. Her tongue is licking and swirling and just, fuck, fuck, fuck, and Flynn’s kissing down his neck and getting his hand under Wyatt’s shirt and rubbing his thumb in circles around Wyatt’s nipple and Wyatt can’t even fucking _breathe_ and—and it’s been a while all right and he can’t, oh God he can’t—

He shudders from head to toe and empties himself, his toes curling, clinging to Flynn, going limp.

Flynn pulls away and Lucy wipes at her mouth, looking like a cat with cream. She crawls up the bed, pushing Flynn aside just a bit, and takes Wyatt’s wrist in her hand. Guides it between her legs.

“Garcia,” she whispers, even as she keeps looking into Wyatt’s face, as she slips his hand underneath her jeans, presses it to where she’s hot and slick. “Undress me?”

Flynn does as he’s told, although Wyatt notices that his hands are shaking a little. As for Wyatt himself, well, he’s not stupid enough to fail to understand what Lucy wants from him.

He slides his fingers into her, finds her clit with his thumb, presses and rubs, curls his fingers and finds just the right spot to make her gasp. She works her hips down onto his fingers, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth falling open.

Flynn looks like he’s drunk, watching the two of them as he peels Lucy’s clothes off her body, exposing miles of pale smooth skin to the gaze and hands of the two men.

Lucy pulls away once she’s loose and open, and then just about shoves Flynn down onto his back on the mattress, swinging her leg over his hip.

Oh, holy fuck.

Lucy winks at Wyatt. “Feel free to join in,” she tells him, and then she’s kissing the life out of Flynn.

Well, never let it be said that Wyatt Logan was lazy in bed.

Hell, yes.

 

* * *

 

Flynn has decided that fucking Wyatt stupid is his new favorite pastime.

And then Lucy just about rips his clothes off and pins him down and oh, oh this is how he’s going to die.

He’s not sure he minds too much.

He’s already unbearably hard from watching Wyatt fall apart, from kissing him and getting his hands all over him, and then from undressing Lucy while watching Wyatt finger her as she made these little _ah ah ah_ noises that had him just about having a heart attack. But then Lucy grips his cock and starts to slide onto him and oh, oh okay, apparently he can in fact get harder.

 _Fuck_.

Lucy hums happily, sliding her hands up and down his chest, shifting her hips until he’s fully inside her. Just as she starts to move properly, a pair of large, rough hands take Flynn’s face and turn it, and then Wyatt is kissing him as Lucy pushes herself up and down on him, keeping her strokes deep and hard.

Flynn feels like he’s going to fall apart. Wyatt’s kissing him and exploring him, touching him with all the excitement of doing something new, and Lucy’s already fucking him like she knows how, like she’s dreamt about this for months and maybe she has, and he can only grab onto them and hold on for all he’s worth.

It’s sensation, so much sensation he can’t even think, can’t focus, it’s all too much, and Lucy’s starting to moan—

Wyatt pulls away for air and Flynn opens his eyes in time to see Lucy grab Wyatt and pull him to her. Wyatt kisses her, his fingers coming down to work her clit, and Flynn chokes as Lucy moans and comes, tightening around him, clenching, fucking rippling like a wave and oh holy—

The sight of the two of them, kissing, Wyatt’s hands sliding over Lucy, the feeling of her clenching around his cock, of knowing he made her feel good like this, is all too much and he spills over into her.

Oh shit, he hopes she’s on birth control.

Lucy slumps onto his chest and Wyatt collapses onto his side next to him. Flynn wraps his arms around them both and for the first time in years feels… content.

 

* * *

 

Lucy wakes up feeling wonderfully warm.

She’s using someone’s shoulder as a pillow, and she’s got two sets of arms around her.

“And this?” she hears whispered.

“A pipe bomb in Somalia,” she hears whispered back. Flynn, she knows from the accent.

There’s a soft sound that she recognizes as kissing. Then, “This?” Wyatt asks.

“That was all the way back… I was sixteen…” She's not at all surprised that they're comparing scars. That feels like a very... them thing to do. She is a bit surprised, although delightfully so, that they're apparently kissing each scar in turn.

Flynn shifts and that means her pillow moves too.

Lucy makes a noise of discontent and she feels Flynn stop.

“Lucy?” he whispers.

She opens her eyes to see Flynn and Wyatt looking down at her. She smiles softly. The room’s dark, it’s hours later. “How long have I been out?”

“We were all out a while,” Flynn notes. “We missed dinner.”

“Speaking of, I’m starved, I say we raid the kitchen,” Wyatt adds.

That sounds like a good plan to her. “And then we… go back to bed? And we’ll… we’ll pick a room to move all our things into?”

She doesn’t think they’ll say no, but there’s a part of her that still worries…

Flynn gently brushes his hair out of her face. “Yes,” he tells her.

Wyatt presses a kiss to her cheek.

Lucy never would’ve thought she’d say this but… perhaps getting stuck in Montana for weeks was the best thing that’s ever happened to her. To them. For them.

She lets the boys playfully drag her into the kitchen and smiles and laughs and feels as though finally—she gets to put herself first. For now, at least, for this moment, and however many moments she can steal—she gets to be happy.


End file.
